


A Wonderful Winter With The World's Greatest Gunman

by author203



Series: Written By Request [3]
Category: Lupin III
Genre: Christmas, Christmas sort of but not really, F/M, Fan Service, Fluff, Fun, Holiday, Romance, Whirlwind Romance, Winter, Written by Request, author is in love with a figment of someone else's imagination, cinderella story, i know nothing about wills and legal stuff, jigen is my favorite, mostly Jigen / cameos/mentions of other characters, one shot but is really long so call it a triple, red jacket i guess but Lupin is hardly there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/author203/pseuds/author203
Summary: Jigen takes you to the Christmas ball.
Relationships: Jigen Daisuke/Original Female Character(s), Jigen Daisuke/Reader, Jigen Daisuke/You
Series: Written By Request [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2046656
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	A Wonderful Winter With The World's Greatest Gunman

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SapphireHero2020](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphireHero2020/gifts).



> I was given a lot to work with, and I hope I captured the essence of what was sought after. 
> 
> Reader discretion advised. Some crude humor (from Lupin), some drinking and cursing (from Jigen), and some romance. Sort of, but not really. Nothing happens. They kiss.

**A Wonderful Winter With The World's Greatest Gunman**

Her clock went off in the middle of the night, at an ungodly hour, because this was her life now. There was a time when she would have been angry about it, but enough time had gone by that the anger had burned down from a raging blaze to a dark smolder. Oh it was still there, and she could feel it, but it wasn't all consuming like it used to be. Time had dulled it. Like it had dulled the pain. Like it dulled everything.

She knew her anger was justified too, so she cut herself some slack. She knew it was wrong to hold grudges, but some people did their absolute best to deserve them.

She sat up with a groan, got ready to start her day while the entire world lay sleeping soundly. She wasn't a morning person, and it wasn't fair, but there was nothing she could do about it.

She got dressed and left the small apartment situated on top of the bakery she worked in for barely above minimum wage. The one she was the rightful owner of. She should be the one profiting from her hard work and early rising. Not her stepmother.

 _How cliché, to have a selfish stepmother. Almost like a fairy tale,_ she thought bitterly. _Well, then, where is my prince? Getting a little tired of waiting on him._

She had moved to the little apartment above the bakery not too long after her father had died. A heart attack, she had been told, but couldn't believe it. He had always been the picture of health.

She had been made to feel like a guest – an unwanted one – in her own home, and she couldn't take it, so she left.

And this way, when she started her day in the middle of the night, at least she didn't have to commute. She didn't think she could do both. Get up now and drive to work. Or worse, take public transportation.

Once downstairs, she turned on the lights, started the ovens so they could preheat, set up her playlist. Lately, she had been listening to Christmas instrumentals with a jazzy twist. A little early for it, but she liked them and there was no one here to complain. Her heart ached a little. This time of year and especially holidays were always tough.

She went about her usual routine, measuring ingredients, greasing pans. Everything at _The Upper Crust_ was baked fresh daily. And it opened at 6 am. Which meant things had to be out of the oven, cooled, and frosted before then. Thus her unusual waking hour.

As much as she resented her situation, she liked these quiet hours when no one was around. Before customers started in with their unreasonable demands and complaints. Before her stepmother decided to check in around midday, just to make sure things were running and the place was turning a profit. Not to help. Not to run the register, or answer the phone, or even put a mixing bowl in the dishwasher. But she was there to count the money. And to criticize. She was quite good at that.

_These cookies are good, but don't you think they're a little dry?_

_We wouldn't be out of flour if you had done a better job of reminding me._

_Do you think your father would approve of your attitude?_

She hated when her father was brought into it. It had been a while, a few years, and the searing pain of his sudden loss had blunted to a muted ache. But it flared fresh whenever her stepmother brought him up. She only did that when she was losing the argument. She only did that when she knew it was the only way to win, and she knew what it did to her stepdaughter. The woman knew how to push buttons and she did not hesitate to use that to her advantage.

She put thoughts of her stepmother and her situation aside, and moved to sprinkle some pumpkin spice into a batter she was mixing. The lid came off the shaker and ruined all her effort.

“Fine. I'll just make it again. It's fine. I have time. I'll just do it again. Love doing everything twice. Three times makes it extra fun.” Rolling her eyes, she took the bowl to the trash, found the can full.

“I ask for one thing around here. Just one. Take out the trash at the end of the day. And they can't even do that.”

She had found that since her father had died, she had started to talk to herself more. She wasn't sure why. If there was any connection. Maybe she had always done so, and that was just when she had noticed it. She didn't know. It didn't matter anyway.

“It's fine. I'll do this. I'll do freaking everything around here.” She emptied the trash, tied up the bag. The nearest dumpster was in the alley across the street from the little store front. She didn't bother to lock the door. She'd only be gone a second. And who would be out wandering the streets at this hour?

She was quite surprised to return and find a man leaning against the counter.

He looked up as she came in behind him, jangling the little bell above the door. His eyes traced her up and down approvingly, before his mouth quirked up on one side in a little half grin.

He was wearing a suit, but looked a bit disheveled. And his fedora was just a little askew. He had a beard, but no mustache, and looked – handsome would be a fitting word for him, she grudgingly admitted.

But handsome or not, he didn't belong here. “We're closed,” she said firmly.

“Oh, didn't know. Door was open. Saw the light... Cold out...” His voice trailed off and he just stood there staring at her.

She felt the blush rise to her face, but could do nothing to stop it. “You'll have to leave.” She gestured to the door she stood in front of.

“This how you treat customers?”

“We're not open. So you're more of a trespasser than a customer.”

“Huh. Well.” He was not deterred in the slightest. “Got anything to eat?”

“Are you drunk?” She couldn't tell. He didn't slur or sway, but there seemed to be something just a little off about him. His tie was loose, a shirt button undone, his eyes looked tired, bloodshot. And considering the hour, she thought maybe last call hadn't been but so long ago.

“No.”

“You sure?”

“No. No. I'm not drunk...”

She didn't say anything.

He shook his head. “I was drinking.”

“But you're not drunk?”

“No. No. There's a difference. A big one... I'm not... I'm hungry.”

She shrugged. “Well, there's nothing to eat here. Won't be for a while. You can come back when we open.”

“What's this here?” he waved at the display case that held a couple of muffins, a crescent from yesterday.

“Leftovers.” She came forward, brushed past him, went behind the counter. She caught a whiff of his aftershave through the tobacco and booze scent that clung to him.

The suit was new and high quality. He wasn't a bum at least. And didn't look dangerous. Maybe she could cut him some slack. She didn't know his story. No one knew hers. If they did maybe they'd take pity and not cuss her out of the lack of vegan menu options. Customer service was the worst.

She bagged up what was left in the case handed it to him, their fingers touching briefly.

He held her gaze until she felt herself blush again. Who was this man? And how could he make her face turn red just by looking at her?

“What do I owe?” he said smiling. He had not taken his eyes off her this whole time. She liked his voice, and suddenly realized she wanted to hear her name in it.

“Um, nothing. I was going to throw those out.”

“Seems like a waste.”

“Baked fresh daily. Our motto.”

“That works out nice. For me. Thanks.”

He turned to leave, and she watched him, but before he reached the door, she called to him, “We open at six.”

He didn't answer, just nodded as he went out, gave a little wave through the front window once he was on the street again. She hesitated, then waved back.

Why did she tell him that? Did she want him to come back? Would she mind seeing him again? Well, he was nice to look at if nothing else. But she wouldn't let herself get caught up in anything. She had a business to run. She had obligations.

She locked the door again and went back to the kitchen.

What was she thinking anyway? Some drunk wandered in by mistake, looking for a midnight snack, and she was already picking out china? Absurd. He hadn't said anything any other customer wouldn't have said. Nothing out of the way. Nothing flirtatious, nothing romantic.

She could add her mind to the list of things she had lost.

She went back to work and tried to forget about him. She'd never see him again.

But the image of him, leaning against the counter, that smirk on his bearded face, stayed with her. Through the rest of the night, and once the sun was up, and the bakery was filled with customers. Even in the afternoon when she retreated back to her apartment, leaving her stepsister to handle the end-of-day closing and cleaning.

She thought about him while she ate alone, staring at the television, but not really watching it. And she thought about him as she got ready for bed while the sun was still up. Even this time of year, when it set so early. It galled her that she had to keep such a schedule, but she didn't think about that much tonight.

Tonight she thought about him, and sort of hoped she might dream of him. Or at least see him again. And soon.

She had forgotten him by the time her alarm went off. And she started her same old routine, the same way she always did.

After putting a batch of blueberry scones in the oven, she went up front to make sure her stepsister had done her job. Sometimes she found a table that needed cleaning. Or a napkin holder empty. Not always, but once in a while, and she liked to check things before the shop opened.

He was at the door looking in, and she jumped when she caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. He jerked his head a bit, beckoning her, and against her better judgment she went to open the door.

He stepped inside, smiled at her. “Been waiting a while now. Cold out there.”

“It's winter. What are you doing here?”

“Here I thought it was fall.” He looked different somehow. His eyes were bright, his tie had a firm knot this time, his hat on straight. “Why, came to see you, of course.”

“Why?”

“You know, I'm not exactly sure myself. But it seemed like a good idea at the time.”

She was a little off balance. There had been the odd customer or two that had tried to flirt, but they had given up when she didn't give them the time of day. She preferred to stay in the kitchen and avoid the hassle. But the way he said it – like he meant it. Like he really had come here on purpose and only to see her. It was hard to explain the difference.

“Here, brought you something.” He offered a take out cup of coffee with one hand, took a sip from another with his other.

She took it from him and just held it. “Thanks, but I can't drink this.”

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything.

“You might have done something to it,” she explained.

Men.

They never had to think about those kinds of things. Park under a light. Always keep the doors locked. Don't accept things from strangers. The sheer confidence they used to move through the world bordered on recklessness. She envied them their naivete.

“Oh. Well. Then. Hmm.” He finished his drink, took hers back and downed it in a few gulps just to prove a point.

He was not here to hurt her.

“Wasn't it hot?”

“Not really. Been waiting a while.”

“How long?”

“Long enough.” He looked around the little bakery with its small scattering of tables, large glass cases that would be filled with baked goods soon, the tiny pumpkins and cardboard ghosts next to the register. “Something burning?”

“Oh no!” She left him standing there and rushed back to the kitchen, snatched the scones from the oven. They were just a little overdone around the edges. She thought she could still sell them.

“Need a hand?”

She jumped at his voice. “What are you doing back here? Employees only.”

He chuckled a bit, leaned against the doorway. “That's not an answer to my question.”

She had too much to do and had wasted too much time on him already. Making the practical decision she decided that yes, she could use some help, but there was one thing – “I can't pay you.”

“Did I ask for a job? I asked if you needed help.”

“Wash you hands first.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“I don't know where you've been,” she teased, starting to relax just a little.

He laughed at that. He had a nice deep laugh and she liked hearing it.

He took off his suit coat, hung it on the coat tree in the corner, rolled up his sleeves, washed his hands. He caught her staring at him, and when he chuckled a bit, she blushed again.

“You can wear this.” She handed him an apron with the bakery's logo on it.

“Ok. Ready.”

“You've baked before?”

“Not on this scale. But I know my way around a kitchen.”

“I hope so. Here,” she handed him a recipe card, and set him to work.

Having an extra pair of hands around really made a difference. She finished everything, and even had time to spare. Such a rare thing. She never had time to spare. She always felt like she was barely treading water, scrambling every day.

He had just finished filling the display case when he caught her watching him again. “What now, fearless leader?”

“You can call me by my name.”

“Yeah, I would do that, except that I don't know it.” After a pause, he added, “Yet.”

“Oh, sorry.” She told him, asked for his. “Daisuke? Really?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“What kind of name is that?”

He laughed a little. “The only one my mama gave me.”

“Your people live around here? I might know them.”

“Oh, no. They've been gone for years.” He didn't strictly know if this was entirely true, but it might as well have been. He hadn't seen them since he had run off all those hard years ago. Hadn't even thought of them in at least a decade.

“I'm sorry.”

“No need to be,” he assured her.

“I didn't know my mother. I was told my birth was difficult and they couldn't save her. And my father, he's gone now too,” her voice cracked a little and he looked at her with pity in his eyes. She hated to be pitied. Why was she telling him this? He was a stranger to her.

“Sorry to hear.”

“It's fine,” she wiped her eyes. “It's been a long time.”

“Still hurts though.”

“Yeah.”

“This a family business?” he said looking around again, grasping for something else to discuss.

“Technically.”

“And what does that mean?”

“It's complicated.”

“I've got time.”

She checked the clock above the register. It was almost time to open. “Well, I don't. Not now.”

“Later?”

“Maybe.”

He took off the apron, went in the back to fetch his suit coat, came out looking sharp. Made her breath catch a little, but she wouldn't admit it.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

If he was going to work, she might let him hang around. “Sure. Tomorrow.”

He nodded, turned to leave.

“Wait. Do you want these?” She held out the bag of leftovers, a couple of rolls, a cookie, a Danish.

“Sure, Cupcake. Thanks.”

She froze. “What did you call me?”

He frowned, looked puzzled. Had he said the wrong thing? “Cupcake?” he asked.

She realized he was frowning. “Sorry. It's just my dad used to – I haven't heard it in a long time.”

He cocked his head to the side, studied her. “But that's ok? If I call you that?”

“I think I'd like that,” she admitted.

“All right, then,” he smiled. “Tomorrow, Cupcake.”

“Until then, Daisuke.”

She changed her routine, and started checking the front door first. She always found him waiting, patiently, sometimes smoking, sometimes just standing there, but always smiling when he laid eyes on her. A few times, he unfolded himself from the front seat of a yellow Fiat, said something to whoever was inside before it drove off.

She was starting to enjoy his company. They had read most of the same books, seen the same movies. They had a lot in common. Classical music. Westerns. She hadn't seen one in a long time, but she had watched plenty with her dad. It surprised her how easy it was to hold a conversation with him, and she really liked his voice. Liked when he would describe his favorite scene in a movie she hadn't seen yet, how he captured the hero's stance and dialogue just right. Liked how he got embarrassed when she talked about the romance novel she was reading. Like how when he thought she was upstairs or out front and couldn't hear him, she would catch him singing. And she liked how when he was caught, he would blush and lower his hat to cover his face.

Liked how he was always happy to see her. Liked how he kept coming to see her.

She was getting used to having him around, started to miss him when he wasn't there. He always left before the place opened.

It occurred to her that no one knew about him. Certainly not her stepmother. But she hadn't told her stepsister either. It was almost like he was a secret she was keeping. If she had to keep him a secret, did that mean what they were doing was wrong?

But what had they done wrong? Baked cookies together? Talked? Nothing she wouldn't have done with anyone else alive. So why hadn't she told anyone about him?

Maybe she was afraid to lose him too. If no one knew about him, then no one could take him from her. Well, they had a good thing going. And she wasn't going to rock the boat right now.

She tried not to think of the future or what they were doing. Why did he hang around all hours of the night? Didn't he have to work? Sleep? How did he have so much time? And since he did, why did he spend it with her? Who would want to do that? No one ever – not since her father... At best she was tolerated by her stepmother. And even though she adored her stepsister, they had different schedules and separate lives, and only got to see each other at work, usually with her stepmother hovering. Censoring their conversation, judging from a distance.

It was weird. Having him around. But a good weird. This handsome stranger that had stumbled into her life, become a friend. And maybe, maybe he might be becoming something more.

Maybe...

She trusted him now. She would drink the coffee he brought, eat the chocolates, things like that.

Once stuff was out of the oven, and they had to wait for it to cool before they could add the icing and sprinkles and finishing touches, sometimes they would sneak up to her apartment. He would cook for her, comment on her bookshelf or music collection, ask about her week.

No one ever asked about her day. It was so nice to have him around. To have someone taking care of her again.

She was getting too accustomed to his presence, she thought one morning, watching him pull pans of fresh cupcakes from the ovens.

It was only a matter of time. It was always just a matter of time.

“Hey,” he said, putting the pans down on the counter. They would have to sit a few minutes before they could be transferred to the wire cooling racks. “You ok, Cupcake?”

“Just thinking.”

“Want to tell me what about?”

She had already told him everything. He knew of her father, and her stepmother. And how the bakery and the house and even a sizable fortune should be hers. But her father had not left a will, which seemed very unlike him. He had always been a planner, he had had life insurance, even done some funeral planning for himself, young as he had been. Why would he not have left a will? And because of that, her stepmother got everything. It wasn't right, but there really wasn't anything she could do about it. He had been coming around for a few weeks now, and he knew everything about her. She realized she knew very little about him. He wouldn't talk about himself.

“You. Mostly. And how you'll leave soon. Everyone... Everyone always –” The tidal wave of grief came suddenly, with no warning, and swept her away as she started crying.

“Whoa, whoa there.” He opened his arms, and she flung herself into them, clung to him like he was a rock after she had just been shipwrecked. She cried against his shoulder as he whispered nonsense, stroked her hair.

“I'm sorry,” she said after a few minutes.

“Don't be. And don't worry. I'm not planning on going anywhere anytime soon. And if I do, I'll just take you with me.”

“You will?” Could she do that? Just turn her back on everything that was supposed to be hers and everything that had happened and just leave? Maybe. Maybe she could if he was beside her.

“Of course, Cupcake. I don't know that I'd want to go on living if it had to be without you.”

“You mean that? Really?”

“Sure.”

“What time is it?”

He took his arm from around her, looked at his watch. “We've got time enough for me to cook you something. Bakers got to eat too, right?”

She looked up at him, smiled, hugged him close. “We do.” She took his hand and they went up to her apartment where he cooked them breakfast, and was gone again before the place opened.

A few days later, he came in to find the tables strewn with paper snowflakes, tinsel and garland piled on the counter, an artificial tree set up in the corner, but bare, needing decoration.

“What's all this?”

It was the first week of December, and past time to have the place decorated, she had just not been able to get that far. There was always something else demanding her immediate attention.

“Glad you're here,” she told him. “I could use your help.”

He nodded. It was why he had come. To help. But mostly, just to be near her. He liked spending time with her. She was a soothing quiet presence compared to Lupin's constant antics.

He found himself wanting to take care of her. Take her away from all this. From her stepmother and the rest of it. But he wasn't sure how to ask. And he wasn't sure what she would say.

He found himself being grateful. And to Fujiko of all people. Something he resented feeling, and tried to avoid at all costs. But if she hadn't pissed him off, he wouldn't have gone out drinking. Wouldn't have wandered into Cupcake's bakery, wouldn't have met her.

She spent the rest of the morning baking, while he spent it stringing lights and hanging ornaments, taping paper snowflakes to the windows. Pointless, ridiculous things that Lupin would laugh at him for doing. But he did it anyway, because she had asked him, because it made her happy.

He had just put the angel on the tree, turned to find her watching him again.

She handed him a rolled up poster. “Put this in the window.”

“What is it?”

“Just a flyer for that stupid winter ball thing they do every year.”

He studied her face, said quietly, “And what makes it stupid?”

She shrugged, tried to laugh it off. “I've never been. It's couples only and no one... No one ever...” She trailed off, looked away from him.

He turned from her, went to hang up the poster. “You know,” he said over his shoulder, “we could be a couple. If you wanted. To get into the party, I mean.” He had meant it like they could be a couple forever, and not just for the ball, but he wasn't sure she wanted to hear that. Not quite yet anyway.

“You serious?”

He still had his back to her, but when he nodded, she hugged him from behind, startling him just a bit. He turned in her arms and hugged her back.

“I'll need a dress,” she thought out loud.

“We can go pick one out sometime.” She looked skeptical. She couldn't really afford to waste money on such frivolities. “My treat,” he rushed to add.

“I don't know.”

“We'll get something you can wear other places too. Something practical. But stunning.”

She laughed a bit, “Well, ok. You know, I don't really like shopping.”

“Me either,” he chuckled. “But we'll make it fun. It'll be nice to do something different. Together.”

“When?”

“Oh, soon. Sometime. We'll work it out.” He bent to pick up the empty ornament box. “Where do you want this?” He held out a bunch of artificial mistletoe he pulled from the bottom of the box.

“We don't ever put that up.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“Yeah. Mistletoe is a parasite.”

He chuckled again, a deep rumble that softened the edges of her heart a little more. “True enough. But it's a bit more than that. Let's put it here.” He fixed it above the doorway that led to the kitchen and back rooms.

“Fine. That's fine. Put it wherever you want,” she said with a dismissive wave.

He stood there under it. Waiting. She went to move past him. There were cookies to decorate and get in the display case. He caught her hand. “Um, slow down Cupcake. Seems we're both under the mistletoe now.”

“So?”

“Well, tradition dictates...” He stopped.

“A kiss,” she finished for him.

“Well, yeah. If you want.”

She looked down and away. How could she explain that she never– At her age– It was embarrassing almost. Not something she liked to talk about.

He cupped her chin, lifted her gaze to meet his own. “Cupcake?”

“I haven't... I never...”

“That's ok.” He moved his hand to her cheek. It was amazing how it felt rough and soft at the same time. Soft wasn't the right word. Gentle. Tender, maybe.

“May I?”

She hesitated. “I don't know. The first one is supposed to be special.”

He took his hand from her face, tipped his hat up a fraction. “We won't do anything you aren't ready for,” he promised.

She had wanted her first kiss to be with someone she loved. Did she love him? She thought she did. Maybe she just loved the attention? She wasn't sure. How do you know? How do you know you're in love? Was it when you couldn't stop thinking about him? When you brightened just by laying eyes on him? When you suddenly felt lighter at just the sound of his voice? When you felt off balance when he used words like _darling_ and _Cupcake_? Was it when he surprised you with flowers for no reason? Or cooked breakfast for you? Or helped with chores for nothing in return, just to help, just to be kind? Just to be there?

They had known each other only a short while. But she thought maybe she did love him. She pictured the rest of her life, but always it had him in it. Maybe she did. Or could. And plenty of other people had done more with less.

And it was just a kiss. One kiss.

“I'd be honored,” he said, “If you'd let me be the first.” Somehow, amazingly, that didn't sound cheesy. Coming from him, the way he said it, holding her eyes with his own, in that voice...

She couldn't say anything. Just nodded.

With her permission granted, he placed his hands firmly on her hips, drew her close to him. Close enough that their torsos were touching. Close enough that she could feel his tie clip pressed against her.

She looked up at him and was both nervous and eager, afraid and excited. He placed his lips on hers, gently at first.

His beard felt rough on her face. She closed her eyes, circled her arms around his neck as he cautiously deepened the kiss. She welcomed it. Welcomed him. Suddenly knew why people made such a fuss over it in her books and movies. Started to really feel and experience the things she had only ever imagined.

He broke away after a few moments, looked at her with those steady gunmetal gray eyes. He waited.

“That was...”

“Yeah?”

“Nice,” she finished. “Can we do it again?”

He laughed. “Anytime you want, Cupcake. I'm always up for it.”

She blushed. Maybe he meant that one way, maybe another. She would try not to read too much into it.

His hands were still on her hips, and she liked having them there, but she couldn't stand here all day. There was work to be done.

They were both startled by the knock on the front door. Who? At this hour?

There stood a man in a colorful jacket, grinning like a monkey, waving energetically.

“I know him,” he sighed. “I'll take care of it.”

“Friend of yours?”

“Usually. But since he interrupted us, not right now.”

He went to the door, turned the lock. She stayed behind the counter watching them, trying to overhear.

“Getting serious, Jigen?”

“What are you doing here?”

“She's cute,” Lupin said looking over Jigen's shoulder.

“Again, what are you doing here?”

“Hate to cut your date short...”

“It's not a date.”

“Sure, sure. But we've got some planning to do. Things to get ready. You know. Now's as good a time as any.”

“Well, not really. Not for me,” Jigen said, glancing over his shoulder at her. He stood in the doorway, letting the heat out and the cold air in, but blocking Lupin's way. “I was sort of busy.”

“You can do that any time.”

Jigen rolled his eyes. There was no winning. If he didn't go right now, Lupin would pout and make his life miserable for the next several days. If he did go, well, he'd have to leave her and she'd be disappointed. He wasn't sure which would be worse.

She made the decision for him, and he was silently grateful. “You can go. If you need to. I can handle things here.”

“Wait for me in the car, boss.” Jigen closed the door in Lupin's face, but could see him smirking through the glass. He turned his back on him, went to the counter where she stood watching. “I'll see you soon.”

“I'll miss you.”

“Not too much,” he advised.

“Enough.”

“Good. Wouldn't want you not to miss me.”

“Let's go Jigen,” Lupin shouted from the driver's seat. He honked the little car's horn. He didn't care it was still dark, that people might still be sleeping.

“You better go,” she said.

“Yeah.” He kissed her forehead, turned to answer his friend's call. “Take care, Cupcake.”

“Be careful.”

“Always,” he promised.

Outside, he took time to light a cigarette and puff a while before getting in the car. He only did it to make Lupin wait, and the thief, impatient, drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Finally,” he groaned.

“Not sure why you need me to case the place. Not sure why you always have to butt into my business.”

“You're getting too serious,” Lupin warned.

“You mind Fujiko. Let me worry about her.”

“You're smitten,” Lupin informed him. Jigen was useless when his heart was broken, and now was not a good time for that to happen.

“I am not.”

“You're talking in your sleep again.”

“Am I?”

“You talk about her. We won't be here much longer. What are you going to do? Bring her with us?”

“Well... I thought... Maybe...” Jigen sputtered a bit, then fell silent, stared out the window as Lupin drove on.

Lupin quirked an eyebrow. “You mean it? You think she can? Handle it?”

“Tough as nails that one. She's been through a lot apparently. Running with us is nothing she couldn't handle.”

“What's she been through? Exactly?”

Jigen told the story as it had been told to him. “Sounds to me like Humpty Dumpty was pushed,” he concluded. “And now she slaves in that place for just enough to feed herself. It's not right.”

“Maybe we can fix it.”

“How?”

“What did you say the stepmother's name was? I think I've heard it before.”

It was decided. They would add another stop to their itinerary.

Lupin had a plan.

It was a few nights later when Jigen found himself in the library of a huge two-story house on the outskirts of the city. “Will you hurry it up?” he hissed.

“Quit rushing me, Jigen-chan.” Lupin was listening to the tumblers in the safe's lock and Jigen's constant badgering kept distracting him.

“We need to wrap this up.”

“What's the rush? Your Cupcake need frosting?”

“Don't be crude.”

“You're getting in too deep.”

“I can handle it. You just mind your own damn business and get this safe –” Lupin swung wide the door before Jigen could finish. “Open.”

“As you wish.”

“So what are we here for anyway?”

Lupin laughed quietly in the dark. “You don't know where we are.”

Jigen shook his head. He didn't know and he didn't care. He was only here to keep lookout, only here because Lupin wanted him to be.

“Why, Jigen-chan, this of course is the wicked stepmother's house.”

“What?”

Lupin started taking things out of the safe, handing them to Jigen to put in the sack they had brought for their loot.

“Yeah. Here,” the thief held up a ring, handed it to Jigen. The gunman looked at it and could only think of her, and how it would look on her finger.

“What is it?”

“It's called the Elsa Snowflake ring.”

“How do you know that?”

“There's a legend about it. It's been on my list for a while.”

“And you knew it was here?”

“Oh no. I knew it was in this city somewhere. Finding it here was pure coincidence.”

“What makes it so special?”

“Legend says if you give it to someone, their reaction to it will tell you whether or not they're your true love.”

“Really?” Jigen slipped it into his coat pocket. He'd be keeping it, whether the others liked that or not. They could take it out of his share, he didn't care. “What reaction?”

“It's nonsense really,” Lupin explained. “If they like the ring and accept it they're your true love. If they don't, they aren't. But really who would turn down free jewelry? Sort of a self-fulfilling prophesy, you ask me.”

“Hmm.”

“There's something else here.”

“What?”

“This safe – there's a false back to it.” Lupin opened the secret compartment. “Oh ho, what have we here?”

“Did you hear something?”

A floorboard in the hall squeaked. A bell jingled. A terrier – one of those yappy little lapdogs – wandered into the room, spotted strangers in his territory, and started barking. The bell they had heard was on its collar. And it was barking loud enough now to rouse the neighborhood, let alone the house.

“Whatever it is, grab it and let's get out of here.” Jigen was already trying to shake the little dog off his pants leg where its teeth were tearing the fabric. “And you owe me a new suit.”

“Yeah. Sure. Got it. Ok. Let's go.”

Long practiced in such things, they retreated out the second story window, across the rooftop, down a drain pipe, and ran to the waiting Fiat to make their getaway.

They could still hear the little dog barking as they drove off.

Around the same time Jigen was sprinting across what used to be her backyard, she went downstairs to the front door to let him in.

He wasn't there. She even went outside, looked up and down the street. It was empty. She didn't see the little yellow car parked to the side. He wasn't leaning against the bricks flicking ash from his cigarette.

“Where could he be?” she wondered out loud.

When she thought about it, she realized that she had seen him at the same time every day (except Sundays when the place was closed) since that first night he had stumbled into her life. He was – or at least had been – as predictable as sunrise.

“Why didn't he tell me he wouldn't be here?”

She went back inside, started baking because it had to be done and there was no one else to do it. And now not even his help.

She struggled with a sack of flour. It was heavy and awkward, and she missed having him there to lift and carry and reach things on the high shelf, add ingredients to a mixer when her hands were full. It was so much harder on her own. She had never realized it before. Probably because she had never realized what it was like to have help before.

She kept checking up front, every ten minutes or so, but he never came. At first she was puzzled, then she was worried – maybe something had happened to him – then she was angry at being abandoned again, but maybe that wasn't what was happening either. The uncertainty. The not-knowing was what she couldn't stand.

Then a sadness settled like a weight around her shoulders and she leaned into it.

“It's what you get. It's what you get for letting your guard down,” she admonished herself. “Serves you right.”

She thought maybe she was too hard on herself, as she placed the day's muffins in the display case. “Well, let's look at it this way. It was nice while it lasted. And what did you learn?”

She had learned not to offer her heart so easily.

She had learned how to perfectly flip a pancake. She had been at the stove in her apartment, him standing close behind her, his arms around her waist, his beard on her neck, his breath warm in her ear. “Not yet, Cupcake. Wait. Until the edges brown a little. See the bubbles there in the center. Almost. Patience. That's what this takes. Patience.”

She had learned how he took his coffee, and most days she had it ready for him.

She had learned he didn't like the cold, so she kept the thermostat a few degrees warmer than her stepmother approved of – _The overhead of this place eats too much into the profits_ , she had been lectured.

She finished with the muffins, turned to take the tray back to the kitchen, caught sight of the mistletoe.

She had learned to kiss.

He had been a great teacher in that regard.

But now he was gone. Like everything she loved. Just gone. With no explanation. Snatched away from her with no warning or reason.

She wrenched the mistletoe from the wall and hurled it in the trash.

 _Enough_ , she thought. _Enough of this._ Who was he to get so tore up over? He was nobody. She had known him for a few weeks. Why should it matter to her that they hadn't gone dress shopping like he had promised? Or that she wouldn't be able to go to the stupid winter ball she didn't even care about? She never wanted to go anyway.

She told herself she hadn't wanted that. It was no great loss; you can't miss something you've never had.

It was an hour or so before the bakery would open. That was plenty of time to finish what needed to be finished, and with enough left over to have a good cry in the employee bathroom.

Her stepsister came in later, after the place had been open a while. She didn't even care that she had been the only one working during the breakfast rush. When she was busy, she didn't have to think about him. It wasn't unusual that her stepsister should be late, but the news she brought was anything but ordinary.

“There was a break-in last night.”

“What?” she asked, placing two cinnamon rolls in a bag and handing them to a customer. “Are you ok? What happened?”

“I'm fine. Someone broke in to your... to our.. to the house. Last night. Took everything in the safe. Mom is beside herself. She's been cussing police officers all morning.”

She tried not to laugh. It wasn't right to wish ill fortune on others. And it wasn't right to take pleasure in it either. But a little poetic justice – that was a fine thing to witness.

“What did they get?”

“Not entirely sure,” her stepsister answered. “Jewelry. Money. Some papers or something. She's really upset about it.”

“Sorry to hear, I guess. Can you clean that table?” she said as she answered the phone.

A little later, around mid-morning, she was in the back, cleaning, putting things in order so they would be ready for her in the morning. Or middle of the night. However you wanted to look at it.

There was a lull. It was after the breakfast rush, but before the after-lunch crowd came seeking sweets and afternoon pick-me-ups. Her stepmother had finally showed up and stood at the register counting bills, muttering to herself about better security systems and bigger dogs.

She heard the bell above the door, but paid it no mind. Until she heard her name. In a man's voice. It sounded like– Could it be?

She went to the kitchen door.

“Is she available?” he said. It was him. He had come back. Standing there at the counter, looking as good as she had ever seen him. He hadn't seen her yet.

“No,” her stepmother said tartly, not looking up. “She's busy.”

“I am not!” she said coming forward.

“Oh, hello dar–” She shook her head so slightly, just a fraction, that only he noticed, and stopped mid-word. He looked from her to her stepmother.

“You are too,” the older woman snapped. “You've got plenty to do. Get back in the kitchen.”

“I'm taking a break.”

“I didn't say you could–”

“Who asked you?” That came out a little harsher than she had intended. She took a deep breath, said evenly, “I'm taking lunch. I'll be back.”

Her stepsister was wiping a table nearby, looked up, smiled and said, “We can handle it. You have fun.”

“Thanks.” Then to him, “Let's go.”

“Sure.” He had almost said Cupcake, but caught himself just in time. He didn't want to cause any more trouble for her. Seems she had plenty of that.

She shrugged into a worn coat that was a size or two too big for her. Jigen thought it must have been her father's.

He held the door, and outside offered his arm. He had walked here. Lupin had been sleeping, and he couldn't find the car keys. The hotel they were hiding in wasn't too far from the bakery. Rather than wake the thief, who was always cranky when he didn't wake up on his own, or wait, Jigen had walked.

“Where to, Cupcake?”

They had walked about a couple of blocks before she planted her feet. “Where were you? I was –” She stopped, looked away.

“Worried? About me? I'm flattered,” he teased her warmly, smiling.

“I'm serious,” she frowned at him, crossed her arms. Her forehead held the cutest little crease when she was angry.

“I just had something to take care of.”

“You could've said. I thought...”

“What?”

“I thought I'd never see you again.” How could he not know that? After everything she had told him. “That something had happened. That you were gone.”

“Oh, Cupcake, I'm sorry. I didn't think that you might assume –” She _had_ thought the worst, of course, and who could blame her. After her father had never returned that day. She liked a routine; she liked to know what to expect. She didn't like surprises. She didn't like uncertainty.

“It's fine.”

“You don't have to lie. Not to me.”

“It is.”

“I can see plainly that it's not. But,” he took her hand, started walking again. “I can make it up to you.”

She wasn't sure how, but she was intrigued. “Prove it.”

He chuckled. “Sure. Let's eat, and then we'll find a gown for the princess.”

“You mean it?”

“Yeah. You got to have one for the ball, right? Might take us more than an hour though. That going to cause you trouble?”

“No more than I already deal with.”

He took her to a restaurant. A nice one she hadn't been to, couldn't afford. And then he took her shopping, let her take her time browsing, trying on things. He saw she kept looking at the price tags, and he kept saying not to worry. Money was no object and things like that. Things he thought Lupin would say.

He thought she might be interested to know that her stepmother was footing the bill, but he didn't think it was the right time to tell her. He had his hand in his pocket, worrying the ring. He wanted to give it to her, but again, the timing was off. Later. He'd do it later.

She wanted the subtle black one. He wanted her to have the red one. The one that would turn heads and stop traffic. The one with the split in the hem, and the neckline that made him think he had better not leave Lupin alone with her.

“I think this one,” she said.

“Just get both.”

“Seriously?”

“Sure, Cupcake. You deserve it.”

He carried the bag as they walked back to the bakery. They had been gone most of the afternoon. It was almost time for her to retreat to the apartment.

“Will you keep it? Bring it tonight?”

His face looked puzzled.

“I don't want to answer a lot of questions about it. I'll have enough explaining to do as it is.”

He nodded, and when they reached the bakery he kept walking. “See you tonight, Cupcake.”

She braced herself, went inside. The place was empty except for her stepmother. She was right where she had left her, standing at the register, staring at the door, drumming her fingers on the counter.

“Where were you?” she demanded.

“I told you. Gone to lunch.”

“A mighty long one.”

“I usually don't take one at all, so it only seems fair.”

Her stepmother grunted. “And just who was that? Rough looking character if you ask me. Your father wouldn't want you keep company like that.”

“I didn't ask you. And he's just a regular,” she lied. She was not about to explain him to her stepmother when she wasn't even sure herself. What was he to her? She didn't know.

“Well, I haven't seen him before.”

“Maybe that's because you're never here.”

Her stepsister came in from the back room; she had heard the arguing. “Oh, good. You're back. Everything went fine. Did you have fun?”

Her stepmother huffed a bit at being interrupted, picked up her purse. Got ready to leave. She never stayed longer than absolutely necessary. “Be sure you lock up. There's been a string of burglaries all over town,” she told her daughter, not even sparing a glance for the offspring of her dead husband.

When they were finally alone her stepsister said, “Don't mind her. She's still upset. So who is he?”

“Nobody.”

“Uh-huh. That won't work on me. Now really. Who is he?”

She blushed. Wasn't sure how to answer. Was he her boyfriend? She didn't think he would like that word. It sounded juvenile. And there was nothing boyish about that man. “Just a friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yeah. A friend.”

“How good a friend?”

“Good enough. Look, it's getting late for me. Can you take care of this?”

“Sure. I just worry about you. Living here. Alone and all. Just be careful.”

“I will,” she promised. She was always careful.

But he made her feel reckless. He made her feel things she had never felt before. She already missed him. And as she climbed the stairs to her tiny apartment, she wished he was there climbing them with her.

She pictured his lanky frame sprawled on her couch, or folded into one of her small kitchen chairs.

She knew she would see him again in just a few hours, but that couldn't come soon enough.

Jigen was in an easy chair in the hotel suite, one foot propped up on the opposite knee. He had his hat pushed back and was holding the ring, turning it in his calloused fingers, just staring at it, considering.

It was a beautiful piece. He could see why Lupin had been interested in it. And he could see why it had cost him so much to persuade the thief to let him keep it.

A small stone surrounded by tiny ones, arranged in a snowflake pattern, all set in a polished rose gold. It looked to him almost like an engagement ring.

Is that what he wanted it to be? Is that how he would offer it?

Maybe Lupin was right. Maybe this was going a little too fast. He'd known her a little while, couple of months, maybe not that long. He'd lost track. In his life and career, he woke with certainty that this day could be his last. He was always sort of half-surprised when he did wake up, if he was honest.

Maybe they hadn't had a traditional courtship, but he knew he loved her. He hadn't said so, not to her, not in words, but he could tell. It had happened a couple of times before, and he knew what it felt like. He had made the mistake of mentioning her. It had been something entirely innocent, when they were eating, he didn't even remember what. Something like she likes Chinese food. Goemon had looked concerned, and Fujiko had laughed at him. Lupin told him once again to be careful, but Jigen wasn't sure why.

“You get distracted, you get careless,” the thief said. “Don't want you to get hurt.”

Well, he was sure one to talk.

Jigen knew they would be leaving soon. Lupin's next calling card had already been sent.

He didn't want to leave her behind. It would be awful if she said no, but even worse if he didn't ask.

He was no coward. He'd ask her. And soon.

It would be her decision if his heart remained whole or split down it's middle.

He checked his watch, stood up. He would not be late again.

Her stepsister was on time for once, but even so it was a while before enough customers cleared out so they could have a second to talk.

“Need a favor” she started.

Her stepsister looked unsure.

She rushed ahead, “You know the winter Christmas ball thing? Next week?”

“Yeah.”

“Um... well... I...”

“You're going? With him?”

“Yeah.”

“That's great! Wait, what do you need from me?”

“I was wondering if we could switch hours that day.”

“I don't know. You know I can't bake.”

“I'll have everything measured out. All you'll have to do is mix it up and put it in the oven. I've got all the recipes written out.”

They stared at each other for a moment, neither saying anything.

Finally, her stepsister said, “He good to you?”

“The best.”

“That's good. You've been happier these last few weeks. I've noticed. It's nice to see you smile. You haven't done that in a long time.”

“I know,” she said, quietly.

“Ok. For you, I'll do it. But I wouldn't for anyone else. No one is worth getting up that early for. Except you. Maybe.”

Laughing and teasing and gossiping, both enjoying a few moments alone together, they sealed their deal by splitting the last Christmas cookie.

“How do you do this? Every day? It's exhausting,” her stepsister said tiredly, the day of the dance.

“Just used to it, I guess.”

“I won't do this every day. I'd hire somebody.”

“I really appreciate it.”

“Just have fun. That's all I want is for you to be happy.”

“I will. Thanks.”

Her stepsister left, and though the place was supposed to be open at least a couple hours more, she closed up shop. Her stepmother had already come and gone for the day so she was pretty sure no one would notice.

She had an errand to run. And then she had to get ready.

He'd be here soon. She couldn't wait to see him.

He arrived, right on time, driving that Fiat she had seen before. She had been watching for the little car, waiting, anticipating, and when she finally saw it on the street below she rushed down to meet him.

He was in a tux. It fit him well. But he was still wearing his fedora. She thought maybe that didn't go with a tuxedo but there was no persuading him to leave it anywhere but on his head.

She opened the door, and heard his breath catch, blushed.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, eyes wide, looking her up and down.

She had gone back to the dress shop without him knowing, and traded the black and the red for something green and shimmering. Something long and flowing, that exquisitely hung from her shoulders, and clung to her curves just right. There were little red poinsettia blooms embroidered around the hem and neckline and sleeves, and she even had one done up in her hair, the red setting off the green perfectly.

“Do you like it?”

He nodded. “It suits you.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted something you hadn't seen.”

“It's beautiful for sure, but only because you're the one wearing it.”

She blushed again. He always knew just what to say.

He offered his arm, as was his habit now. “Well, princess, you're sure to be the belle of this ball. Shall we?”

“Yes. Let's.”

They both laughed a little.

He waited for her to lock up, then opened the car door for her. He drove with one hand on the steering wheel, his other holding hers. He ran his thumb along her knuckles, absentmindedly while he drove. He imagined what it would feel like to hold her hand once the ring was on it.

If she'd wear it. If she'd say yes.

They were mostly quiet. She would say _turn here_ or _next right_ , but that was about it. She was nervous and excited, and – happy, she realized a little stunned. She was actually happy. She had almost forgotten what that felt like.

“You know, Cupcake, there's something I wanted to ask...”

“What is it?”

“Oh, never mind. It can wait. We're here,” he said as he pulled into a parking garage, found a space, let go of her hand to shift into park. “Ready?”

“As I'll ever be.”

“Don't worry. We'll have a grand time, I'm sure.”

“How do you know?”

“You're here. That's all that matters to me, Cupcake.”

She smiled softly. “You're the only one I'd want to be here with.”

“That's good, because I hear at these things you've got to dance with what brung you.”

“Dancing? Really? You?” She laughed at the thought, and it was such a light blessed sound that he did too.

Then he sobered a bit, advised, “There's a lot you don't know about me, Cupcake.” Then he frowned slightly. Maybe it was too much she didn't know. Maybe it wasn't right for him to ask. He hadn't told her yet how he was wanted internationally. How he never stayed in the same country very long. How he was always on the run. How he was always getting shot at. How he was always having to shoot back. Sometimes shoot first. How he had killed people. In self-defense. For petty personal reasons. And worst of all, for money.

He hadn't told her and he knew she deserved to know before she agreed to spend the rest of his life with him. He knew it would be the rest of his life. That she would outlive him, he had no doubt. His heart, what was left of it, ached for her in that regard. If she agreed to be a wife, it was a certainty she would be a widow. But he didn't think about that now.

Now all he could think about was how she looked and how her hand felt on his arm, and how her perfume was almost enough to make him feel a little lightheaded. He felt a little rattled, and Jigen was not a man that rattled easily.

Inside was exactly as you'd expect, but she thought it was magical. She had never seen anything quite like it, and she was still a little surprised she was there to bear witness. Tasteful decorations, well dressed people, festive music from a live band, even a silent auction.

That gave Jigen a bit of a pause. He hadn't expected to see that. “What's the auction for?”

“This whole thing is to raise money for the children's hospital. That's why the tickets were so expensive.”

He scoffed. “I spend more on cigarettes. Don't worry about the cost of things. Just let me take care of it.”

“Ok.”

“I'll get us something to drink,” he said as he spotted Lupin carrying a tray of champagne flutes. The thief had something in the works and the gunman had to put a stop to it.

“Oh, Jigen-chan, how's your lady friend?”

“Fine. Look, this whole thing is for charity.”

“What? Really?”

“Yeah. Children's hospital. Whatever you're planning, call it off.” Jigen scanned the room, caught sight of Fujiko flirting with a much older man as his wife stood by aghast at her audacity. He looked around a bit more, and saw Goemon pretending to be interested in the auction items. Lupin looked like he was considering, but Jigen glared at him until he finally nodded.

“Of course, Jigen-chan. We're criminals. Not monsters.”

“Uh, right.”

“Have you... you know?”

“Not yet. Later. After.” He took two glasses from the tray Lupin carried and went back to where she stood waiting for him.

“Thanks.” She took the glass, tasted it, made a face as he chuckled.

He knocked his back, took hers, and drank that too. “I'll get you something else?” he offered.

“Not now. Do you think... Do you think we might...” She looked toward the band, a little wistfully, he thought.

“Of course.” He set the glasses aside, tipped his hat up. He thought about bowing, but decided against it. That was maybe too much. Instead, he held out his hand, said in that smooth baritone that sent a shiver through her, “Cupcake, would you honor me with a dance?”

“It'd be my pleasure,” she said as she took his hand. They walked the short distance to the dance floor. Then she put her free hand on his shoulder, like she had seen in the movies. She suddenly realized she didn't know how to dance, that she had never done so with a man, and certainly not in a place like this with other people watching.

He placed his free hand on her hip in the same way he had that first time they had kissed, and she relaxed a little. She may not have known how to dance or what to do, but like that other time, he did and he was there and he could lead.

He spun them in a little circle, slowly to the rhythm watching her face the whole time.

She was distracted, trying to think of where to place her feet, and how to keep up with the beat, and how to not look like a fool.

He stopped. Stood still.

“You're thinking about it too hard,” he leaned in to whisper, his mouth close to her ear, his beard brushing her cheek. She looked around at the other people dancing, the flurry of activity in the huge room. “No.” He took his hand from her hip, turned her cheek so she looked back at him. “Don't think about them. They aren't watching, and they don't care. Look at me. Think about me. And listen. Hear the music. Just let it flow.”

She nodded shyly. She wasn't sure what she could have said anyway. She tried to follow his advice.

He started to move again, put his hand back on her hip. She looked at him, into his eyes, and tried to think of nothing else.

He was right. Again. Of course he was. It was so much easier when she quit thinking about it and just let it be.

While she was trying to focus only on him, she realized that he was usually the only thing she could think about. When he was there in the wee hours of the morning helping bake the day's goods. When he wasn't and she sat in her apartment alone wishing he was by her side. And almost every moment in between.

She must be in love she thought. There really was no other explanation for it. This unbridled obsession...

He twirled her away from him, and then back into his arms, and they danced for a few more songs until she was a little breathless and wanted a break.

“You're a wonderful dancer,” she complimented.

“I know enough to get by.”

“Where did you learn?”

“Oh, here and there. Sometimes it comes in handy for a job.”

“You haven't told me what it is you do.”

“I'll tell you everything. In a while. Not here. Not now.”

“When?”

“Later. You ready to eat?”

“Sure.”

It was a catered affair, and the food was exceptional. He held out her chair, pushed it in for her. Was a perfect gentleman. Put his napkin in his lap, knew which fork to use, and everything. She was forced to admit she was impressed.

She had been rather quick to judge him that first time they had met. But she was learning that she had so much she had yet to discover about him.

The evening was entirely enchanting, one she knew she would cherish always, and it passed much too quickly. Before she knew it, the party was over, and he was driving them back to the bakery. It was a Saturday night, the place would be closed tomorrow. She wouldn't have to get up and start sifting flour.

It was late, but she invited him in anyway. They retreated to her tiny apartment, where she changed clothes while he made coffee for both of them.

He had a lot to tell her and he didn't know where to start. He had found a velvet box to hold the ring and it hung like a weight in his coat pocket next to his heart. He had been carrying it around with him since Lupin had passed it over from the safe.

Her stepmother's safe.

How was he going to do this?

_Oh, by the way, I'm a dangerous violent criminal. Still want to be my sweetheart?_

Should he use the word sweetheart? Was that too cheesy?

Maybe Lupin was right. Maybe he was in too deep.

“Is that your thinking face?” she asked, as she came up to him, kissed his cheek.

“Uh, yeah. Look, Cupcake...” he trailed off, stared at his mug.

“What is it?” He looked serious. She was afraid of what he might say.

“Can we... Uh, why don't we sit down?”

“Sure.” She went to the worn out couch, sat in the middle of it. He followed with the mugs, handed one to her, sat by her side.

He didn't say anything for a while, just sat and drank his coffee. She didn't rush him. Her heart beat faster, and her mind was racing. She was terrified of what he might say. The magic of the evening had seemingly evaporated, and suddenly she was forced to face stark reality once more.

Maybe he was leaving. Maybe this was the last time she would see him. Because no one ever stayed around. Not the people she wanted to keep. The ones she couldn't stand, she couldn't seem to get rid of those.

Should he start with the ring? Or maybe with his life's story?

Damn it, this shouldn't be so hard. He put his mug aside on the little side table. She handed him hers, and he placed it next to his. He dug around in his coat pocket. If the legend was true – not that he put much stock in those kinds of things – then he'd feel better about telling her the truth. About who he was.

Not that he had lied about anything, exactly. He just hadn't advertised certain things she might have thought relevant.

“I have something,” he said as he opened the tiny box and held it out to her.

Her face pinched and she looked like she was about to cry. Probably a bad sign, he decided.

“Where did you get this?” she demanded, astonished, snatching it from him. “Tell me right now where you got this from!” She sounded angry and he thought maybe he had made a mistake, but it was too late to take it back, so he plunged ahead.

“I sort of found it. In a safe. In your stepmother's house. In the second floor library...”

“My father's study,” she whispered, almost trembling, clutching the ring box with both hands.

“I guess so.”

She wanted to cry, but mostly that old anger was back, burning fresh and hot. Not at him. She was grateful to him for giving back what was rightfully hers. “She told me she buried him with it. That I couldn't have it because it was gone. It was my mother's. He always promised I could have it. When I was old enough. When I was ready.”

She took it from the box and studied it. It looked the same as she remembered. She was happy to see it again. So happy he had been the one to bring it to her. “Do you know the story?”

“About the ring and true love and such? Yeah, I heard.” He paused. Then said, “It sort of looks like an engagement ring, you think?”

“Are you... are you proposing to me?”

“Do you want me to propose to you?”

She nodded, tears brimming. Her emotions were in turmoil. She was ecstatic and livid and elated and bitter all at the same time. Her love for him, her resentment of her stepmother competed for attention. “Can you say it? I want to hear it.”

“Anything you want, Cupcake. Marry me?” he said grinning, his hat pushed back so she could look at his perfectly sculpted face.

“Yes!” She handed the ring back to him, the stones in the snowflake sparkling, and shivered a bit as he slipped it on her finger. “It fits,” she marveled.

“I'm glad,” he leaned back, circled an arm around her.

“Wait,” she sat up a little straighter. “My stepmother's safe. You're the one that broke in? You stole this?”

“Technically. But is it really stealing when you take back what was taken?”

She studied his face. This man that occupied her every waking thought. The one she had just promised to marry. “Who are you? Really? The truth, now.”

“The truth, Cupcake? Not sure where to start. Have you heard of Lupin the Third?”

“No.”

“Oh. Really? Hmm, ok. That's kind of rare. Well... how about Inspector Zenigata?”

“Oh, yes. I've seen him on television. He's quite handsome.”

The gunman blushed a bit, and she thought maybe he was jealous. She smiled, and told him, “But not as handsome as you.”

That just made him blush harder, and he lowered his hat a bit as she giggled.

“Well, he's the one that makes my life so much more difficult,” he started to explain. He told her who he was, what he did, what he had done, how long he had been doing it. He tried to say it in as few words as possible. He wasn't embarrassed to admit what he was, he was just a bit concerned at what her reaction would be. She might decide he wasn't worth the trouble once she heard the whole story.

“And there's something else,” he said, pulling a folded piece of paper from his jacket pocket. He handed it to her, watched her read it.

“He did leave a will. I knew he would have. I knew she was lying. I always knew.”

“It's yours Cupcake. The bakery, the house, all of it.”

“Daisuke. Thank you. This changes everything.”

“Speaking of change. I'll be leaving soon. Lupin's ready to return to Europe for a while. You can come with me, if you want. Or you can stay here, and I can visit – as often as possible. If you want to stay.”

“I've got a better idea.” She told him what she wanted to do, and he agreed that it was an excellent notion.

She kissed him and he let her. He shrugged out of his coat, deepened the kiss as he tore his bow tie loose and tossed it aside. He started to undo the buttons of his shirt, and leaned forward against her so that she was forced to lean back, started to lay down, his hands exploring uncharted territory.

She stopped halfway, pushed him aside as she sat back up again. “No. Not that. Not yet.”

It took him a few minutes to find words. His breath was a little ragged when he croaked, “When?”

“Soon as we're married.”

“You're cruel Cupcake. Utterly.”

“But worth the wait.”

“Absolutely. You are, you are for sure, but please. Please don't make me wait but so long... You ok with one of those drive-thru chapel places?”

“That's fine. There's no one I'd invite anyway.”

He slept on her couch that night, and she could hear his snoring from her bedroom. It was a very small apartment, and he filled it with his sheer presence, made it feel even smaller when he was there.

She woke up to him rattling around the kitchen and the smell of bacon.

“Well, if it isn't my fiance,” he said grinning behind his mug. He must have left and come back during the night, because he wore his regular suit now, not the tux from before. That hat cocked at just the right angle, his eyes gleaming, almost wolfishy, she thought.

“Still sounds weird,” she said, admiring the ring again. She had not taken it off when she slept, and thought she would never have reason to take it off again. “But in a good way.”

He was by the stove and she came over and gave him a little peck on his smooth cheek. He must have shaved while he was gone too. His aftershave made her a little giddy. “Sleep well?” she wanted to know.

“Sure did. Made breakfast.”

“I can see that. I'm starving.”

They spent that Sunday together planning. She packed the clothes she would take with her, a couple of books, the pictures of her parents in the little folding frame she kept on her nightstand.

They cleaned out the fridge, took out the trash, washed the dishes. She was leaving, but she would leave everything in order.

They ordered takeout for supper to avoid doing dishes a second time, and later watched a movie together.

“Until tomorrow,” he said as he got ready to leave.

“I'll be waiting.”

He smirked a little. “You sure? A Christmas wedding?”

“You'll never forget the anniversary that way.”

He laughed at that. “True enough, Cupcake. True enough.” He took the duffel bag she held out to him, and he left carrying everything she would bring with her into her new life.

He was there a few hours later to help bake, and she was surprised to find herself just a little sad knowing it would be the last time.

He was gone before the place opened and she waited eagerly, impatiently for him to return.

He was supposed to be back right after her stepsister arrived. Her stepsister was late again. But that was fine. They had planned for that.

“Finally,” she said. “Cover for me. I've got to take care of something.”

The Fiat pulled up outside. Lupin was in the driver's seat. Jigen got out of the passenger side, walked around and leaned against the back door. He pulled out a cigarette and smoked leisurely while he waited for her.

“You're going somewhere? With him?” Her stepsister looked concerned.

“Just for a minute. I'll explain everything when I get back.”

“Ok,” her stepsister answered, as she picked up the ringing phone to take an order.

She slipped out before anyone could stop her, hugged him tight, before he opened the back door. She slid in and across the seat, and he followed to sit beside her.

“Well, hello,” Lupin said loudly, turning in the seat, grinning with that stupid look on his face.

“Just drive,” Jigen said flatly.

“Aren't you going to introduce us, Jigen-chan?”

“Plenty of time for that later. Right now we got a schedule to keep.”

“You're no fun,” the thief whined.

“He always like this?” she asked quietly.

“Twenty-four. Seven. Three-sixty-five,” Jigen laughed. “But you get used to it.”

“Oh, ha-ha. Jigen is so funny.” Lupin rolled his eyes and started driving.

They did what they set out to do, and returned to the bakery.

It was mid-morning by then, and her stepmother was at the register, looked up as she came in.

“Why aren't you in the kitchen?”

“You didn't even know I wasn't here.”

“No. But now that you are, you can get back to work.”

She placed her left hand on the counter. Her stepmother caught sight of the ring and blanched. “How?”

“Doesn't matter. But it's mine now.”

“Where did you get it?”

“My fiance gave it to me.”

“Your what?”

“And he gave me something else too.”

She looked at this bitter, hateful woman, the one that had been so cruel to her, that had caused her so much strife, and who had in all likelihood, very possibly murdered her father. Though she'd never be able to prove it. She thought she would be seething, trembling with a need for retribution, or that she would want to cry. Or something. But instead, to her amazement, she felt nothing.

Except maybe relief that she'd never have to see this person again.

Her stepsister was nearby cleaning a table. She called her over. “Do you know who owns this place?” she asked.

“I do, of course,” her stepmother answered the question before her stepsister could say anything.

“Wrong. According to my father's will –”

“You know he didn't leave one,” her stepmother sputtered. “You know that as his wife, I get –”

“Shut up,” she snapped harsh enough for the few regulars to look their way. “I know he left one. I have it. And it was in the same place as this ring.” She held up her hand.

“He did?” her stepsister asked. Then turned to her mother. “Is that true?”

Her stepmother was speechless, so she continued, “Yes. It's true. And according to that I get the business, the house, everything.”

Her stepmother was looking more worried with each word that left her mouth.

“But since I'm leaving –”

“You're leaving?!” they both asked in unison.

“Yes. I'm leaving.”

“With him?” he stepsister asked. She saw him through the front window.

She nodded.

“Are you sure?”

“With that ruffian,” her stepmother scoffed. “You don't know anything about him.”

“ _You_ don't know anything about him. He's done no worse than you, I'm sure. And as I was trying to tell you both, since I'm leaving, I signed the house and business over to you,” she said looking at her stepsister. “You were always kind to me. You can keep it, or sell it, or burn it down for all I care. And as for you,” she turned on her stepmother, “you'll get nothing from me. Your daughter might take pity on you and let you stay in her house, but you and I are through. And if I was you,” she turned back to her stepsister, “I'd hire someone to do the midnight baking.” She jerked her head at her stepmother, who just stood there, mouth open in shock.

“You can't do this. You can't up end everything and walk away like nothing happened,” the older woman spat.

“Why not? You've been acting like nothing happened for years.” There were tears in her stepsister's eyes. She had witnessed the mistreatment, the criticism, but had never imagined her mother would have ever been capable – It was too awful to even think about.

Looking at her stepmother she said evenly, “You didn't even cry at his funeral.”

“You can't go!”

“You can't keep me here. Not anymore.”

Jigen was standing outside the door. He had heard most of it because their voices had been raised. He was proud of her. Telling it like it was, letting them hold it. She wouldn't be anybody's doormat ever again. She'd be free of them soon, and he was still half astounded that she had said yes – and not only yes to being with him, but yes to the travel, to the running, to the danger, to the uncertainty, yes to basically everything he wanted to shield her from.

Well. One day at a time.

He saw her hug the stepsister, and then walk toward him. She didn't look back. He opened the door for her, took her hand. They walked down the block a little ways to where Lupin waited in the car.

He opened the back door, leered a little at her backside as she slid in and across the seat before he folded himself into the little car beside her and closed the door behind him.

Lupin watched them in the rear view. They were staring into each other's eyes, like he wasn't even right there in the car with them.

“Where to?” he asked. He didn't liked being ignored. Always had to be the center of attention.

“Just drive,” Jigen said, as he scooted close to her. He started to lean in for a kiss, and as Lupin said something very Lupin-ish, he growled “Keep your eyes on the road.”

Lupin frowned and wished Jigen was driving instead, and it was him in the backseat with her, or Fujiko, or Rebecca, or anybody really. One thing about Lupin, he wasn't picky.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“Let me show you how much,” the gunman said as he took off his hat and held it in front of their faces to block Lupin's view from the mirror as he kissed her thoroughly.

Her prince had finally come. And he had returned to her the Elsa Snowflake, and set her free. She was glad she had waited for him, couldn't wait to start their new life together.

She leaned against him in the back seat, and he wrapped an arm around her. This was perfect.

He squeezed her hand, stroked the ring with a calloused thumb, and for at least this moment in his life, was truly happy.

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this after getting a request. Thanks for the suggestion/inspiration. 
> 
> Thanks for reading. Comments welcome.  
> Merry Christmas!


End file.
